


where good men go to rot and bad ones go to wither

by orphan_account



Series: hell is empty and all the devils are here [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Gen, High Chaos (Dishonored)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:01:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24478372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: the once-Lord Protector is coming for him. the once-good man gone rotten. that’s what happens to good men in Dunwall; and men like Daud, who have nothing pure and lifeful to be rotted, they just wither like old leaves until someone sets them ablaze.
Relationships: Daud & Billie Lurk | Meagan Foster
Series: hell is empty and all the devils are here [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1750033
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	where good men go to rot and bad ones go to wither

**i.**

the Knife of Dunwall kills the Empress of the Isles, and that is the easy part. what is not easy is all that comes after. what is not easy is the force of the Outsider’s attention, sudden, engulfing like the murky depths far out into the sea.

this is what Daud understands from the start: what he has done is wrong.

he’s not a fool, and he’s always been aware of the ramifications of what he does for a living. what he doesn’t understand is why this suddenly matters to the Outsider. he could guess that perhaps the Outsider means to punish him, but it’s doubtful. it is not a question of what he deserves, because he _does_ deserve to be punished, he has taken life’s breath from so many others and he is owed the same; but _deserve_ means nothing to the Outsider, and Daud is too old, too tired, too bloody to easily give up what little he’s clawed onto. redemption is for the ones who can afford it. so it’s been handy, then, that he bears the Mark of the Abbey’s devil, who cares not at all for good nor evil.

 _interesting_ is the only thing means something to the Outsider. make yourself interesting, and you will matter to him. Daud has not been interesting in a long time and he knows he will not remain so for long.

what is changed? why is the Empress different?

_(you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her)_

the Empress is different. there will be consequences this time. he will face them, and the Outsider will watch and call it _fascinating._

**ii.**

his second hangs around when he goes to the slaughterhouse to find threads leading to Delilah, and it’s _just to keep an old man safe,_ Billie says, and she’s smiling behind her mask, he knows she is. he can hear it in her voice. she’s never cared about wearing her emotions on her sleeve; she knows few would dare to use it against her, and she knows those few would die quickly.

he wonders if she counts him among those few, now. he wonders if she thinks him weakened since the Empress’s death. he has not killed since. he hasn’t explained why, not to anyone, but he knows the Whalers have taken note.

he will prove to them that he is not weakened. he will prove to Billie—

no. he doesn’t need to prove anything to her. he will kill who he has to, but others’ judgements and clients’ coins _will not_ make him kill anyone he doesn’t want to. that doesn’t make him weak. he knows what he’s doing, and the job goes easily. soldiers and butchers alike lie fallen in his path; sleep darts in their backs, or a ring of bruises around their throats that won’t fade quick. laborers walk away untouched, knowing his face.

(he isn’t weak, but he’s off his game and Billie knows it.)

an arc pylon catches him in the back when he gets closer to it to take down a guardsmen; he cries out in pain, reflexively, unable to stop the noise because he just got fucking _electrocuted,_ damn it, and he turns to shoot a wristbolt into the whale oil tank before the next strike can kill him but Billie’s already there, pulling the tank out of its connector without any need to cause an explosion and draw the entire garrison to their location. she laughs at him. just laughs. she’s always laughed at him, and never worried about his retaliation, but there’s something colder in her laughter now. she pats him on the shoulder, touch too stiff and rough. _good thing I was here, wasn’t it?_

 _sentiment for your mentor?_ he spits out instead of thanking her, and she laughs again and transverses away without answering.

he might laugh too, if he wasn’t a half-dead pile of burnt flesh. it’s all laughable, and so fucking pathetic. the deadly, renowned Knife of Dunwall bested by one of Sokolov’s paltry machines, and his trained killer of a second-in-command, saving his life.

there’s something going on behind the scenes, and she has all the cards here. his hand is empty.

(but he saves her anyway just an hour later, doesn’t consider _not_ saving her even when the ancient music grinds into his ears like knives and makes his stomach twist, even when he nearly dies again almost falling off the fucking roof to throw a chokedust grenade down there to distract the Overseers while she gets away. damn it. damn it all. damn her, and damn himself.)

**iii.**

he kills Timsh with a bolt from a rooftop fifty meters away and that’s that, done. he collects the will without any trouble from more than a few guards who he disposes of without too much difficulty, ignoring the grimy, oily-slick feeling of nausea in his stomach. this is what he does. he kills.

it’s a clean job, and it’s over quick. he should be pleased with it. especially since this should resolve any concerns that Billie and the others are having about his leadership.

but the look Billie gives him still isn’t right.

**iv.**

the fucking Abbey invades Rudshore, with their swords and their music boxes and their Seven fucking Strictures. it’s not the first time that Daud’s come back to a shitshow, but normally there’s more drunken idiots and less fatalities.

it’s not so much a decision as a necessity when Daud kills every Overseer he finds. he’s not going to take his newfound urge for mercy far enough to put his men in danger again. he frees the Whalers that were taken captive, and most of them aren’t hurt too much but a few of them were dead long before he got there. none of this should have happened but the ones who are left will survive this, with a few more scars both on the outside and the inside.

they’ve had worse, and they’ll be fine. they might be _good,_ eventually.

then even that glimmer of hope goes wrong quick enough, _really_ wrong, like everything else in Daud’s life. turns out it’s Billie who betrayed them to the Overseers. of course it was her. he wishes he could say he’s surprised, but he’s not. he’s just all fucked-up inside, and Void, he’s got no right to feel like this – they’re assassins, him and her and all of them, and if one of them has a lick of honor and decency then it’s not the others’ faults. there was no reason for Billie not to betray them. not really. it doesn’t make any difference that Daud would never have done the same to her, that _none_ of them would ever have done the same to her.

 _blades out,_ she tells him in the end. _we’ll do this properly._

as if there’s a proper way to do this. as if there’s a way to kill someone you could almost call your daughter and know you did right, as if Daud’s conscience isn’t already muddier than the Abbey’s morals. he never knows what’s right anymore. but he doesn’t want to kill her.

there’s a moment when he lets himself think that he can do this differently.

later on his second – his new second, Thomas, not Billie, never again Billie. that bridge is burned – his second grabs Daud by the back of the neck and threatens to do the deed himself if he ever sees Daud hesitate in front of an enemy again.

(an enemy. he reduces Billie to an enemy. is that really what she was, when it's all over? or was she just trying to survive? was she just trying to make something better for herself than what she had?)

but Thomas threatens Daud and calls her _enemy,_ and then he breaks down, arms around Daud’s neck, tears falling dark on their coats. _you’re like a father to me,_ he whispers fiercely, choking on the words, _it wasn’t just – just Billie, we_ all _care, you can’t give up because of her – can’t give up on_ us, _we’ll help you, we_ need _you—_ and eventually he trails off into silence but for the sobs that wrack from his throat, make his shoulders shake so violently it seems like he might fall apart. he’s so young, Outsider’s eyes, just nineteen, he’s clocked more kills than any of the other Whalers except Billie, but he still needs someone to hold him and tell him it’s alright. he needs Daud.

and Daud should hold him, should say it’s alright, should say _anything,_ but he doesn’t. he’s washed his hands until the skin is raw and flaking; he can still see her blood.

**v.**

the dreams come every night. he doesn’t call them nightmares. he dies every time, but it’s not fear that he feels; it’s inevitability. the once-Lord Protector is coming for him. the once-good man gone rotten. that’s what happens to good men in Dunwall; and men like Daud, who have nothing pure and lifeful to be rotted, they just wither like old leaves until someone sets them ablaze.

he’s startled from a dream by Rinaldo and he almost kills the man. he wonders, almost idly, if his followers (his family, he called them once) will burn with him.

**vi.**

he’s standing on the bridge outside of Coldridge, the last space of freedom before he’s trapped inside those stone walls (not trapped, _he won’t be,_ he’s better than that, but he can feel exactly how those bars could close around him) and he’s ready, he’s as ready for this as he can be. he’s wearing an Overseer uniform and there’s one of their damned masks over his face. he can do this with no trouble. in and out, no one should know the difference. should. should. his mind’s stuttering on that. there’s a lot of things he should do. lot of things he should have done. now’s not the time to focus on that – it’s never the time. he needs to—

he takes a deep breath of cold, cold air and forces himself to focus.

 _looks like I’ll need to check in with those guards by the gate,_ he says to the ground in front of him, like he’s hoping it’ll respond to him, like he thinks Billie will pop out of nowhere and call him a crazy old fool, but there’s just silence.

so he straightens his cuffs, checks the weight of the Overseer’s sword in his hand. he gets everything ready just fine. he doesn’t need someone to remind him, and he’s _never_ needed _her._

he just needs to check in with the guards. should be easy enough. he can walk in just fine if he plays his cards right; no one needs to die here. these deaths would draw more alarm than the ones at the slaughterhouse. he doesn’t need to bring down the Lord Regent’s focus on himself and his men. Rudshore’s been found once, and it can happen again.

he sheathes the sword and approaches the guards at the far end of the bridge. they don’t suspect anything. the one he talks to is annoyed that he’s late. this is going fine; he just needs to—just needs to—stay _calm—_

 _there was a problem,_ he rasps, _at the waterlock,_ and his voice isn’t shaking, but _he_ is, he’s shaking so hard he can’t breathe.

the guard is speaking, and Daud hasn’t heard a word. _anything else is off limits, understand?_ the guard says, and Daud doesn’t understand at all. he stares at the inside of his mask until his head hurts. the guard is speaking again. and stops speaking. he’s waiting for an answer.

Daud doesn’t have one. the guard is waiting, eyes narrowing.

then—

 _remember, Daud,_ Billie whispers, and it’s like she’s right there next to him, speaking into his ear like she used to when she wanted to catch him off guard. but her voice is softer now. they never spoke in kindness, before, and she doesn’t now, but there’s no threats at least, no plans. _remember, Daud,_ she says, and he listens, mind going blank. _just like you taught me. always be quick, and be quiet. be cruel if you need information. hand on his mouth – there, that’s right. grab his shoulder and spin him around; knock his knees out so he can’t get his footing. bring up the blade. higher. at his throat._

 _don’t ever hesitate,_ she says, and he doesn’t.

the body hits the metal too loud, rings just a bit, just enough. the other guard, walking away, hears it, and starts to turn. the first bolt from Daud’s wristbow goes wide and catches him in the shoulder, but the second one goes clean through the throat.

Billie laughs, and Daud doesn’t care that it’s mocking. he laughs too. he laughs until he’s doubled over with it, and his chest hurts so bad he could almost think it’s just the lack of air that’s killing him.

**vii.**

she’s with him now. with him always. he never sees her, but she’s always there.

he hears a couple of the men talking about it, before they go to deal with Edgar Wakefield and get Lizzy’s boat back. it’s a pretty routine mission, but they sound worried.

 _he’s not right, Daud’s not,_ Montgomery mutters. _there’s something off about him. he talks to himself. he kills more than he ever did even before the Empress. he oughtn’t lead the mission, not when he’s like this. should get the doc to take a look at him. you agree with me, don’t you, Dom?_

Domenico laughs at him. _don’t be a choffer – Outsider’s ass, I’d be signing my own death warrant if I even brought it up. if Daud didn’t kill me ‘imself for questioning orders, then Thomas sure fuckin’ would._

 _could take him on,_ Montgomery says, desperation in his voice and the way his hands are visibly trembling, _could take both of them. Daud’s gone crazy, and Thomas is near as bad. Dom, please, I can’t live like this anymore. always afraid. you and me could take them no problem, and we could fix things back up the way they were._

_no. we can’t, Monty. he killed Billie, and there wasn't no one better than her. we wouldn’t stand a chance._

_you’re right,_ Daud agrees, and they startle apart where they’re huddled in the corner of the hallway. he can’t see the terror behind their masks but he knows it’s there, even as they stand their ground side by side and pull their blades out. he knows he’s smiling too hard. he doesn’t remember moving but his Marked hand is raised, and when he speaks, Billie’s voice in his head twines with his own. _come on, now. if you’re going to plot against the boss, couldn’t you at least be smart about it? he’s not a fool. a madman, maybe, but he’s not a fool._

it’s not like they’re the first Whalers he’s killed, but he used to feel regret about it.

**viii.**

_still don’t get why you’re helping this damn kid,_ Billie says, idly, while they’re watching Delilah put the finishing touches on her painting of the Child Empress. he’s not really sure whether Delilah is aware that they’re there or not. he’s not sure, either, why he hasn’t just killed her yet. but he’s alright sitting here and watching. they have time.

 _does there have to be a reason?_ he retorts.

 _yes, there does,_ Billie says firmly. _you’ve never done a thing in your life without good reason, and don’t pretend you’ve started now._

_how about the fact that I killed her mother, and got her father sent to prison?_

_try again._

_because I condemned the city to ruin?_

she just snorts. _come off it already. remorse, Daud? it wouldn’t suit you even if you meant it._ he feels a hand on his shoulder, and he jerks around, eyes wide. she’s there, crouching behind him on her own two legs and so _real,_ grinning at him with blood glimmering between her teeth and a gaping wound wide open in her throat. _you don’t owe the kid or Dunwall for a damn thing. listen to me; let it fall. it would be beautiful. you must let it fall._

 _and I’d fall with it,_ he says.

she doesn’t answer him. it wasn’t a question, anyway.

 _is that really what you want?_ he asks. _Billie, is that what you—wanted?_ and suddenly he feels so very tired and old. he can hear it in his own voice, the sort of raspy resignation he hears in his targets just as often as panicked pleas, and he feels it in his body, a roughened, unyielding patchwork of all the scars he’s accumulated over the years. there is little life left in him, and he doesn’t want to fight with her. he doesn’t want anything except to just… exist, and maybe not even that.

_if it was what I wanted, would you let Delilah finish the ritual? would you let the Empire die in her hands?_

he closes his eyes. a few tears escape from beneath his burning eyelids.

_I don’t know, Billie._

she chuckles. _you haven’t got much time to decide, old man._

 _I don’t know,_ he says again, brokenly. he turns to look at her when she remains silent. he wants to beg her to help him decide. more than anything he just wants to keep hearing her voice. he wants to hold her tight and keep pretending that she never died.

but she’s already gone.

the painting is finished, and Delilah is beginning the ritual to take Emily Kaldwin’s body for her own and through her, the throne. soon his choice will be made for him.

 _I don’t know,_ Daud whispers to no one.

**Author's Note:**

> this ended up even a lot angstier than I'd planned tbh.


End file.
